Practical Politics
by da-angel729
Summary: He'd underestimated Laura Roslin. But he wouldn't do it again. Takes place during "Colonial Day".


**Author's Note:** Written for **lls_mutant **at **bsgficexchange** on LiveJournal. As always, feedback and con crit appreciated!

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**Practical Politics**

Tom had been hoping one of the delegates would nominate him for Vice-President the minute he'd opened the question at the first session of the Quorum, but Gaius Baltar seconding it had been a surprise. Baltar had been practically comatose only minutes before. Tom wondered what he wanted.

It'd been a surprise for the President, too, if her glare at Baltar had been any indication. Tom knew she'd have to come up with someone to challenge him. His mind quickly ran through her list of advisers and quickly dismissed them. None of them were particularly interesting or charismatic. Tom smiled to himself, knowing he'd beaten her. For now, at least.

He still had to win the war.

After the meeting was adjourned, he'd been cornered by the press. He'd given interviews, words so familiar they rolled off his tongue. Tom had been saying them for years—he didn't have to pay attention to what he was saying—and the reporters were stupid enough to listen still. And to give his words weight by debating them.

He wondered if he should come up with new material, but quickly dismissed it. His message fit this situation better than it had on the Twelve Colonies.

--

Wallace Gray was the second person nominated for Vice-President, and he had Laura Roslin's approval. In fact, Tom was sure she'd picked him herself. He liked Gray—the man was intelligent, but boring. He'd put the people to sleep if he tried to make a speech. Tom was well aware public speaking was one of his greatest gifts. Give the people what they wanted to hear, espouse ideals and beliefs along with laws, but the end result was the same: make the decision seem as if it were the peoples' in the end.

"What do you think of Mr. Gray?"

He'd entered the courtyard in front of the meeting room for the Quorum and a blonde reporter shouted the question at him. Tom paused for a moment, appearing to think about her question.

"Mr. Gray is clearly an intelligent man who understands the needs of the people," Tom said. "I'm not sure, however, he knows what they _want_."

"And you do?"

Tom smiled, hoping it was gracious. He couldn't afford to turn the press against him, not with the Vice-Presidency on the line.

"I have always been a voice for the people," he said. "They talk to me because I understand _them_ and know I want to help them. People want to know they're listened to."

More reporters clamoured for his attention, but he smiled and excused himself to attend the next session of the Quorum. He still had a job to do, after all. Hopefully it wouldn't be for much longer.

No one would vote for Wallace Gray over Tom Zarek. Not anyone. Gray was boring. He wasn't.

--

He heard the news while standing behind the bar, making meaningless small talk with the patrons, most of whom had no interest in politics. It didn't matter to him. Tom was good at telling people what they wanted to hear, and their opinion would influence the delegates, whether the people knew it or not.

Wallace Gray had pulled his name out of consideration for Vice-President. Gaius Baltar had entered his.

He'd underestimated Laura Roslin. But he wouldn't do it again.

Tom, though surprised, had to admit it was a brilliant move. He'd heard Baltar's speech—though some of it had opened wounds he'd thought healed—and the applause that had followed it. Tom's advisers had told him five of the delegates were still voting for him. One remained undecided: Safiya Sanne. His advisers told him Sanne remained uncertain about Baltar, although he'd been a Gray supporter.

Tom had to convince the delegate to vote for him.

So he called the delegate from Leonis in to discuss what he hoped to accomplish as delegate.

"I hadn't really thought about it, Mr. Zarek," the man said. "I didn't even want to be in the Quorum. It's my wife interested in politics, not me."

"What do the people of Leonis need the most, Mr. Sanne?" Tom asked. He needed supporters, and his contacts had informed him Sanne was leaning toward Baltar. He needed this man on his side. "Knowing what your people want is the first step to becoming an effective member of the Quorum of Twelve."

"There's not a Leonis anymore," he said softly. "I don't think it matters anymore."

"It matters, Mr. Sanne," Tom said. "They're still your people. We have to listen to them, give them what they want."

The delegate seemed to consider this a moment, then nodded slightly. "And you think it's you?"

Tom laughed. "I have every confidence in the Quorum to have the Fleet's best interests at heart," he said. "Whether that is myself or Dr. Baltar is up to them, of course."

They talked for awhile longer, and when Sanne left Tom was certain he'd vote for him. And that made it six to six. Tom had to make sure there was a seventh vote for him, because he couldn't let the President choose.

He decided to try Sarah Porter. She'd seemed angry at Roslin earlier.

--

"…your new Vice-President, Doctor Gaius Baltar!"

Tom set his drink on the counter and joined the applause in the room, smiling at a reporter who'd been watching him since he'd entered the lounge. Tom wasn't stupid. He knew the reporter was waiting for him to appear resentful or ungracious. But Tom had been in the public eye longer than this reporter had been alive. She'd get no reaction from him.

"Mr. Zarek, how do you feel about the new Vice-President?" The reporter had asked the question he'd hoped to avoid.

"I am sure Gaius Baltar will prove an exemplary Vice-President," he said, still smiling. "I am sure he and President Roslin will work very well together."

"Are there hard feelings between you and President Roslin?" She persisted. He had to give her points for that.

"President Roslin, I'm sure, has the Fleet's best interests in mind. I look forward to working with her and Vice-President Baltar as a member of the Quorum of Twelve."

The reporter looked like she wanted to say something else, but he just smiled and slipped away from her. He'd played the game, and he'd lost. But at least he knew how to lose gracefully.

And he'd win next time.


End file.
